


Aprils in New England

by LoveOneAnother



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Grief, Modern AU, Smut, Zutara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2019-12-25 11:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveOneAnother/pseuds/LoveOneAnother
Summary: Katara and Zuko share a single tragic commonality: losing their mothers in the same car crash years ago at the hands of Zuko's father. 19 year old Katara still finds herself grappling with the event that seems to define her life. When a stranger with a scar on his face appears at the site of the crash on the anniversary of her mother's death day, Katara realizes she can earn closure over the loss of one of the best parts of her life.





	1. April 1: Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of domestic violence

_Katara_

Aprils in New England. The wildflowers carve the green grass on the side of the highway, across rocky terrain, to play hide and seek in the woods. Turkeys march around on two thin stick legs, gobbling to find a mate. Rain wipes itself over the world, the sun underdeveloped to let out any palpable warmth. The month the world affirms to try again.

When I read April on the calendar in its sickly-straight black lettering, the first day eats up the rest of the month like a starving man. April 1 is April in its entirety.

April 1 is the faulty first leg of the race limping around the track in ripped sneakers. April 1 is proof of winter swallowing life. April 1 was the day my mother was killed.

The italicized letters burrow beneath the number one: _April Fool's Day_. Each year, I plead with Life to pull back the red velvet curtain and reveal its twisted sense of humor. Each year, I wake up on this day as the same eight year old girl fed the fact that her mother died.

Gusts pour in through the open car windows. I shut off the car, parking underneath a grove of oaks mimicking brown pipe cleaners instead of trees.

The site of the crash is unrecognizable from the rest of the forest, except for a wooden cross staked in the ground. A small plaque lies in front of it, reading "In Loving Memory of Kya Yimida." Another driver swerved into her lane around dusk eleven years ago to the day, hurling both cars off of the road. Two people died: my mother, and a passenger in the other car. Two people survived: the driver, and the second passenger in the other car. I place the bundle of white lilies in front of the plaque, kneeling over the pink wildflowers and prickly grass.

My fingers form the sign of the cross. I pull my cardigan over my body and lift my eyes up to the patches of clouds lining the sky. My voice sounds empty against the whoosh of cars on the highway and the silence of the trees, "Hey, Mom. Sorry the boys didn't come this year. Sokka went fishing, and Dad... he didn't want to come out of his room today," I brush a stray hair out of my eyes, "But, at least you have me."

I whip my head around at the distinct pat of shoes against cold ground. A man a few years older than me stands in the small clearing. He is only a few feet away. Fear ripples through me, but I urge myself to stand up. A massive pink scar circles his left eye, faded from years of healing. His short black hair falls in shards against his face, amber eyes tense as they connect with mine. He places a strong hand against the trunk of a nearby tree, broad shoulders leaning into the bark, "Sorry," he breathes, voice deep and cavernous, "Am I interrupting something?"

I sniffle, rubbing the wetness from my eyes, "I, I was just... I was..." I motion to the lilies and the cross behind me.

"Do you mind if I... join you?" The stranger moves his gaze away from mine.

His question confuses me, "Sorry, but _who_ are you?" I cross my arms over my chest to show this man that I'm protecting the place of my mother's death. My eyes pry into his like a drill into soft wood.

The stranger sighs, walking towards me. I'm suddenly aware of how isolated we are from other hikers. On instinct, I cock my fists. The man shakes his head, raising his hands in defense before stopping a few steps away from me. I lower my hands to my sides, a blush coating my face.

"I'm here to mourn, too," His jaw flexes when he speaks, "This is where my mother died."

My lips tremble, flashes of white anger burning the edges of my vision. The realization tumbles over me, "Your father was the driver. He _killed_ my mother."

The stranger shuts his eyes, "I'm not responsible for my father's mistakes."

"Stay away from me and my family." The ancient anguish rises from its dormancy, and I'm its captive for a moment. I'm the eight, nine, ten year old sobbing in her twin-sized bed. The tears fizzle over like boiling water dripping down the side of the pot.

A grimace crosses his face for a moment. "You don't even know me," The man walks past me and drops to one knee, feeling the dead grass with his hands.

"Hm. Well, maybe I don't want to know you," I mutter before turning away from the man and walking back to my car.

********************************

 _Can you inherit mistakes?_ , this is the question I ask myself as I swirl the shot of vodka around in the clear glass. The pub brims with chatter stuffed between warm bodies. The green wallpaper and dark wooden bars rise up like a forest shrouding me from what happened earlier. Sokka suggested the two of us go to our favorite pub, Crabby Carson's, to celebrate Mom and "get shitfaced so we don't have to think about anything." We are both off on college spring break this week, and thankfully I remembered to bring my fake I.D. from my dorm room.

"Classic," I laughed with Sokka, but agreed to take an Uber from our house to the bustling center of town on this early spring Saturday night. Sokka enjoys the random conversations with people whose names you forget by the next morning, the drinking games, and the boyish dance moves. At college, I like to go to parties once or twice a week, but prioritize academics. Tonight, I want to dismantle the grief restraining me for years and simply _forget_.

I chew on my bottom lip, a knot of guilt twisting my insides. Was I too direct with the stranger, assuming his actions affected the egregious outcome of the car crash so long ago?

"Come _on_ , Katara. How long are you going to stare at it for? Just drink it, already!" Sokka sighs, smashing the palm of his hand to his forehead.

"OK," I pound my fist on the bar top before draining the shot. My lips pucker at the acidic taste, eyes watering from the heat. "That's never gonna get easier," I wipe my lips with the back of my hand as Sokka chuckles.

"Sorry, did you need a drink?" The bartender strides over, dark brown eyes narrowing against mine. He gestures to my clenched fist.

"Oh! No! Sorry, I was just, sorry," I breathe. A flash of mischievousness clings to his eyes before he nods and walks away.

"I think he likes you," Sokka punches my arm. I glare at him, shoving his chest with both of my arms. His dark brown hair hangs in a small topknot along the middle of his head, the sides shaved back.

"Shut _up_! We're not in first grade anymore," I fix my off-the-shoulder top as I glance at the bartender, now talking to another customer before sneaking a look in my direction. A blush sprinkles across my cheeks.         

"Why don't you ask what his name is?" Sokka badgers me.

"No. I'm only asking him for more drinks," I flag the bartender.

"Ready for more?" His wide smile causes me to rock back and forth on my stool.

"Um, yeah... Could I get four shots of strawberry lemonade Svedka? Two for me and two for my brother." I allow my gaze to fall from his eyes to his muscular arms popping from underneath the sleeves of his plaid button-down.

"Jeez, Katara. I didn't mean for you to _actually_ flirt the hell out of this guy right in front of me. Disgusting," Sokka shivers as the bartender walks away.

"Shush! You practically have sex with Suki when you're laying there on the couch in front of me and Dad!" I scoff.

"Fair point," Sokka sighs as the bartender returns with our drink order, "But this guy definitely can tell you're under twenty one."

I motion for him to be quiet as the bartender slides the shots in front of us, Sokka sliding him his credit card, "I'll pay for it, Sis. My treat."

"Can I get you anything else? I'm Jet, by the way," the bartender extends his hand to shake mine, then Sokka's.

My heart springs up into my throat before I shake my head, "I'm Katara, and this is my brother, Sokka."

"Cool. Let me know if you need anything, _Katara_ ," Jet gives me a wide smile before walking away. 

"Hm, this night should be _interesting_ ," Sokka and I clink our glasses before finishing off our second and third shots.

*********************************

_Zuko_

I avoided the site of the car crash for eleven years. When I got my license at sixteen, I refused to drive down the bordering highway. Gradually, like pulling off a blanket to the freezing temperature of your bedroom, I trained myself to hike in the forest and drive past the place where my mother died.

The Fukuda family dynamic crumbled along with my father's white BMW. My parents argued about my father's plan to overthrow his brother as CEO in their multi-million dollar company. My eleven year old self blurred their voices as background noise, fascinated by the blotchy flesh color of the dusk sky.

The bleeding sky spiraled into the ground as my father swerved out of his lane and collided head on with another car. Both cars ignited in tongues of orange fire licking my left eye for a moment before I squeezed through the sheets of metal. Like our perfect image as an affluent family, the car erupted into flames.

For the first time since that night, I trekked through the underbrush towards the site of the crash. I imagined shards of shrapnel or burnt rubber strewn across dirt marking the area. Instead, I watched a shadow of a girl on the cusp of womanhood praying over a cross. Despite the cool air, pink wildflowers swirled around her knees, grass dead from winter but on the verge of revival. The girl's dark brown hair cascaded down to the middle of her shoulders in a loose braid. I watched her for a moment before crushing the silence with my words.

The girl faced me, and I steadied myself on a nearby tree. Her eyes mirrored two miniature oceans, her small mouth slightly pouting. She had a feisty reaction once she realized that my father drove the car killing her mother. I wasn't surprised. As I walk to the pub a few blocks from my uncle's apartment, those crumbling blue eyes cloud my mind.

I congratulate myself for running my hands along the place where my mother died by ordering three shots of Fireball. Crabby Carson's floods with chatty locals in khakis and Patriots hats, mostly men making bets about the Socks season. _What did I do to deserve such a quick judgment from her?_ , I ask myself as the kick of cinnamon scratches my throat. I annihilate all three shots within twenty seconds: a trick I learned in college. I raise my hand to call over the bartender but he leans on the other side of the bar.

Annoyed, I grip the wooden bar top until my knuckles turn white. The bartender's eyes flood with dark lust, staring at the woman before him. I look closer, and I grasp my stool for support.

It's _her_. The girl from a few hours ago, the girl I watched mourn the loss of her mother due to the reckless hands of my father. Strands of her hair tumble in a knot at the top her head, the rest flowing like water to curl at the tips reaching the middle of her shoulders. Her tan skin gleams underneath the white fabric of her top revealing her slim shoulders.

 _Fuck_ , I mutter to myself as I refuse to pull my eyes away from the rosy blush playing with her cheeks. The fluorescent lights of the Stella Artois sign twist lines of red light in her hair.

I drill myself into the stool, and an internal timer ticks away inside of me: eventually, alcohol will force us together. For now, I summon the bartender and order another drink.


	2. April 1: Night - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara's a light-weight and Zuko loves Fireball = cause for an angsty time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of domestic violence

_Katara_

"Oh my _fucking_ \--" I clamp my hand to stop myself from finishing the curse. Sokka follows my eyes to the stranger sitting across the bar. The _same_ stranger who interrupted me earlier today. The stranger whose father killed my mother.

A flurry of fury creeps up my back, shaving my shoulders and neck. _Why is my body reacting like this?_ , I ask myself as anxiety skirts up my stomach. The man sits alone, murky clay colored eyes shining against his pale complexion. His hand dives into his hair.

 _He's decently attractive_ , I think to myself, but I know I'm lying: he's the kind of man who makes the air thick in my throat. But this extreme situation leaves me without feelings of attraction, and more of abhorrence.

"What? Did you hook up with that guy or something?" Sokka scowls.

"No, _no_. Oh God, no. He, he's..." my words crumble into each other as alcohol invades my veins. My body feels weightless. I lean across the bar, unable to stop my stare.

His eyes crash into mine within moments, squinting at me as he recognizes me. He holds his stare as he takes a shot.

"OK, Katara. Who is it?" Sokka sighs, leaning past me to stare at the stranger.

"When I was at mom's, where the crash happened, he was there. He's the son of O-Ozai Fuk--"

"Oh _shit_..." Sokka leans into the palm of his hand, taking a long sip of his tap beer, "Did he say something to you?

"Well, he said he was sorry if he was interrupting something... then, he asked if he could _mourn_ with me. That's when I added it up that his dad--"

"OK, OK. Let's just forget about it. He doesn't seem like a huge dick -- unlike his dad," Sokka chugs the rest of his beer before flagging down Jet.

"How do you know that?" My brow furrows in thought as I mull over Sokka's words, "That's the driver's son. The man who killed mom." My feet trample across the wooden floor before of the pub sticky with spilt beverages, my thoughts following my body. I part through men in Polos and women holding glasses of wine, sliding onto the open stool next to the stranger.

A minty, tangy scent floods my nostrils as the stranger sighs. He takes a swig of his drink before fixing his amber eyes on mine. My lips part, my head a large balloon tilting from side to side from his stare.

"Are you following me?" I sneer, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning closer to him.

The stranger lets his stare fall down to my lips, past my neck, across my chest, and to my jean skirt taut against the middle of my thighs. He raises his eyes to mine again.

"No," his voice rocks against me, "If I remember correctly, you came over here first." His jaw clenches in a powerful, masculine way when his lips guzzle down the rest of his drink.

"So? I was here first!" I push my finger into his chest. His face doesn't move from his stern expression.

"It's a pub. You don't own it."

"I told you to stay away from us. You've already done enough damage," the words fall from my lips before I can scoop them back up and swallow them down.

"You weren't there when it happened. I was in the car, and if you remember correctly, my mom died, too."

"Your father ruined one of the best parts of my life," my heart floods my ears, the words dry like fall leaves.

"Mine, too," the stranger flags Jet down, "You can't possibly be _that_ ignorant to think that I don't know that."

My lower jaw unhinges itself. I resist the urge to kick the stool he sits on out from under him. A hand clamps down on my shoulder. I turn to glare up at Sokka, who reaches his hand out to the stranger. He takes it, and they exchange a hearty handshake.

"I'm Sokka Yimida. Katara told me about you when we were sitting over there together," Sokka gives my shoulder a protective squeeze.

 _Oh hell no_ , I cringe, "No, no! That's not what happened." I shake my head, but the stranger nods.

"I'm Zuko Fukuda. I'm sure you never expected to be talking to me at Crabby Carson's of all places. I can't do anything to change my father's behavior, and I want to apologize for his actions: although I'm not responsible for them. I'm so sorry for your loss," he glances at me before turning to Sokka again.

I wish for a shell to retreat into, or a large coat to hang over my head. I don't want to continue this conversation in such a public setting. Jet returns, thankfully, with two shots of Fireball.

"Zuko, thank you for apologizing, but like you said, it's not your fault," Sokka shakes his head, "Both of our families are grieving tonight. I'm also sorry for your loss."

Sokka fiddles with his fingers, Zuko eyeing me expectantly: but I keep my lips in a rigid line. Despite Sokka's warmth to the stranger, I am suspicious that he's as lethal as his father.

"Oh, shit! This is my song!" Sokka sways his hips in less-than perfect rhythm before stomping off to the small cluster of people dancing in the middle of the pub.

I shift from side to side on my stool, sighing to myself at Sokka pumping his fists in the air. I feel Zuko's eyes pressing against my cheek. I want to hold his gaze in my hands and throw it back in his face. I face him in return, staring at the son of the man who killed my mother. His eyes burn the color of the Fireball he ordered, the worn scar on his face fading into his dark hairline.

"What?" He brushes his hands over his face in confusion.

"Nothing," I shake my head before following Sokka onto the dance floor, "Just stay the fuck away from me and my family."

************************************

_Zuko_

My blood thrashes up in currents all the way up to my ears. Her eyes still prod at me from the dance floor, and I can see her lips moving as she tries to draw her brother's attention. Next, she does the opposite of what I expect -- she comes back.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" She hurls the question at me.

"You just told me to stay the _fuck_ away from you," I growl, "Yet here you are."

Her expression fades from anger to weeping, "I can't talk about this in here." Katara's eyes bubble with tears threatening to drench her heated cheeks. She glares at me with lethal eyes. She pushes past me to leave through the front doors, so I follow her.

The air pummels my face, cold like Katara's eyes as she glares back at me. Her feet fumble down the brick sidewalk. I notice the visible strength in her legs, how her jean skirt is twisted with her top slanted so a sliver of her tan back shows. She collapses onto a bench tucked away in a small, deserted pavilion.  

Her eyes mimic two glass marbles, the kind children covet from one another.

I sit next to her, and she turns away. Katara twists her face to me. Her cheeks reflect the glossy streetlights as tears slink down her cheeks. "I can't talk about this out here, either," she sniffles, eyes testing me.

"Then let's go to my apartment to talk," I throw the words out, "And Sokka can come talk with us, too." I may never get to see her again, and I want to heal just as badly as she does.

" _Fine_ ," she puffs, stumbling up to stand over me, "I'll call Sokka, and _you_ can talk to him." Katara's hand fumbles in her pockets for her phone, and she shoves it into my hand.

"Sokka?" I run a hand through my hair as a cough crackles on the other side of the phone, "It's Zuko."

"Hey, man! What's happ-e-ning!" Sokka yelps.

"Katara wants to talk about... _things_ at my apartment. It's only a few blocks away, and you're welcome to come, too."

"Oh God. That girl has _issues._ I don't have any beef with you, but she just... well, she's emotional even though she tries to act all tough. You know, _women_."

"Um, I guess...? Do you want to meet us after?," I glance at Katara, lips tight and brow furrowed.

"Yeah, dude. I'm having fun here, and I don't wanna deal with her right now. You can just talk to her and bring her back to me or something. My girlfriend Suki's supposed to get me at like, 1."

"1 AM? But it's only 10:14?" I grit my teeth at thinking of handling Katara for almost _three hours._

"Yeah! Just have Katara text me the address and I'll swing by later or you can walk her back. Thanks, man! See you soon, buddy," Zuko hangs up.

"So, it's just me and you until Sokka's ready to leave... at 1 AM..." I wring my hands together.

Katara grumbles, "Whatever. Let's just go."

***************************************************

_Katara_

We walk to Zuko's apartment in silence. He leads a few steps ahead of me, glancing back every few moments to check that I'm following him. The night nips at my bare shoulders, and my teeth chatter with the cold. The walk only lasts a few minutes, and Zuko stops in front of a massive apartment building with regal stone exterior and a stately black roof. A brick path leads up to the front entrance, hedges trimmed to perfect 90 degree angles. I read the black sign with silver lettering: The Pine Grove Luxury Apartments.

"You live in the _Pine Grove_?" I gawk. Only the uber wealthy can afford to live here, and the realization hits me: he must be _loaded_. The lawsuit ended in a settlement for a hefty sum of money, my father dumping most of the money into our college funds. The thought of the Fukuda's wealth propelling my education buzzes in my mind until my ears tingle.

"Yeah?" Zuko scowls at me before punching in a code and holding the front door open. I don't thank him, stumbling into the lobby. The marble floors gleam with a thick polish, crisp white walls dizzy against the metallic sheen of the elevator doors. Everything is shiny, like a large container of lip gloss spread over the walls and dripped onto the floor, like the light slipping through Zuko's eyes when he looks back at me.

"Wait," I yelp as the elevator doors open with a light _ting_ , "He, your, he's not here, is he?" I yank the thick black fabric of Zuko's sleeve, allowing my fingers to curl into his warm arm. I attempt to mask the fear in my voice at the thought of falling back into the vulnerable space I am too familiar with.

"My dad? No, I live with my uncle. But my uncle's out of town this weekend, so it's just us for now," Zuko turns his back to me and slips out of my grasp. I follow him, brushing strands of hair from my eyes. I slink up against the elevator wall, and the doors close. We are so close, me and Zuko, in the tight elevator, so close that I stumble into him when the elevator lurches up to the fourth floor. My head lands against his shoulder, my thigh meeting just above his knee.

"Don't touch me!" I growl, throwing myself off to the opposite side of the elevator as the doors open.

Zuko shakes his head before exiting, "You fell onto me." He stalks off down the carpeted hallway, past cream walls, to a white door numbered with a gold plaque 404. He unlocks the door, once again holding the door open for me. I brush past him in annoyance, whisking off one of my boots at the door mat.

"Shit!" I squeak as I sit on the floor, wrestling with my right boot in my hands. The polished wood floors reflect the white cone-like ceiling lamps, a small kitchen with granite countertops to the right of the doorway. A large flat screen TV hangs on the wall, a dark leather couch on a cream colored carpet.

"Do you need some help?" Zuko kneels down before me, now only wearing a pair of jeans and a gray cotton long sleeve shirt taut against his muscular arms. I fling my foot onto his lap, and his large fingers prod off the boot stuck on my foot.

He stands up, stretching his arms over his head, before bending down to open a glass wine chiller built into the island of the kitchen. He pops off the cork of the already-open bottle, retrieving a wine glass from a cabinet. "Want some?" He asks as he takes a long swig, before adding, "Wait, that's probably not a good idea since you're already trashed."

I glare at him, crossing my arms and standing in front of him, "I'm not afraid of you." My anger fizzles away when he drains the glass of dark red wine. His eyes appear murky, like they're bathing in something other than fury. No, a positive, powerful emotion. More like...

"You can sit on the couch with me if you want. Tell me everything," Zuko places the wine glass on the counter and slinks into the corner of the couch.

"I'm not doing anything 'with you,'" I scoff as I slide onto the opposite side of the couch.

"Look, we're about to have a serious conversation. I get you're mad, and we probably shouldn't be talking about this when we're drunk, but you need to stop whining at me," he places his words like positioning pieces on a chess board.

"I, you're, yes. Zuko..." My voice catches at the end like a zipper on the knitting of a sweater, clasped in a place it should not be, "What happened that made your dad crash?" I stare at my hands nipped pink by the gusts outside.

"He was discussing his business, and my mom challenged him, and he, he _hit_ her," Zuko swallowed, twisting his head away from me to blink at the white walls around us.

All the moisture in my mouth evaporates. In all the hours of pondering the cause of the crash, I never imagined domestic violence. No harsh words bud past my lips. Instead, I rub away the cloudiness developing in my eyes.


	3. April 1: Night - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all just too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of domestic violence and physical abuse

_Zuko_

My movements are mechanical, broken. Like a machine with internal routing ruined by years of age. The alcohol drizzles through me to loosen my joints. The half-girl half-woman across from me leans towards me, fingers fluttering to my knee. I shrink from her sudden movement, and she retracts her hand. I immediately feel the absence of her touch.

"Oh! Sorry, I... I never realized, about why the crash," Katara gulps as the corners of her eyes spill over with tears. She wrings her hands together in her lap like she's attempting to force liquid out of a rag.

"Don't, don't cry," I sigh, stretching my legs across the long couch so my toes almost touch her knees. She nods, and closes her eyes when she wipes away the tears.

"Did, did he hit her a lot?" She peers up at me with loose blue eyes. My throat closes up on itself.

"No. That was the only time that I saw. Then he lost control of the wheel, and--"

"I think part of me was buried when she died," Katara whispers, softly enough that I question if she wants me to hear. The yellow ceiling lights above her head fall in puddles over her hair. Her blue eyes fill up the room like two rushes of water against my face. I inhale a sharp rush of air into my lungs as she parts her lips to speak again, "I miss her."

I lean in, alcohol swooping me closer to her as I shift so I am sitting up. She throws her arms across her chest, but sinks towards me so our shoulders touch. Large tears scratch her face like welts bursting over her tan skin. An ache of empathy pinches through me. I know this feeling, but crush it in my fists until it burns away.

"Stop crying," My voice leaves my lips harsher than I expected. A familiar throbbing develops in my chest. The realization crashes over me that we are the same person, the same child mourning the loss of their mothers by the hands of the same man.

Her eyes flick towards me, "I'm not even crying anymore!" Katara yelps, wiping away the fresh tears with the back of her hand. She smells soft and fragrant like sea salt and sandalwood.

"Good. I can't deal with girls crying," I mumble, then snap my gaze to meet hers as the words tumble out of my mouth. _Fuck_.

Katara slinks to the other side of the couch, "I, what, what do you think you're doing, saying things like that to me!"

I chew on my bottom lip, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just--" Words stop forming in my mouth as Katara flicks her hair out of her face as she stands up. She shrugs her coat off, hanging it on the back of one of the dining room chairs. Strips of yellow from the ceiling lights trace the curve of her neck to her collarbone.

"Sexist jerk," She stalks back to the couch, unapologetically plopping back down closer to me.

 _Good, she's back to being pissed me_ , I sigh to myself. My eyes fall over her bare shoulders. I turn away when her frown deepens.

"I hope he never hit you," she barely whispers.

"Oh my God, Katara, no, he never..." I stand up and shake my head, "He was never violent with me, but he, I, I don't have a good relationship with him."

"I hate him," she says with a level of finality, as if she reached a conclusion that took years to solidify, "Does he even feel guilty?"

I sit back down next to her, "I don't know. I barely know him anymore."

The refrigerator hums in the corner of the kitchen. The faint crunch of tires sounds from the street every now and again. We sit in silence, grieving and remembering and learning. I don't know how long we stay like this, together on the couch in my apartment with walls the color of paper.

"I should go. I don't want to keep Sokka waiting," Katara avoids my eyes, "I, I'm gonna go." She says it as if she needs to convince herself to leave.

"OK, let me grab my coat--"

" _No_. I mean, no thanks. I, I can walk back myself. I didn't realize how close you lived to the bar," she half smiles before turning and rushing to the door.

"Katara, wait--" I shout after her, but she's already in the hallway and sprinting down the steps of the stairwell. I follow her downstairs and through the main entrance. The night air swats at my cheeks. I call to her one last time, through the darkness dappled by splotches of yellow from the street lamps.

Katara stops at the corner for a moment. She twists her face towards me, and I do not see a young woman. I see a child with tear-stained cheeks that reflect the glossy streetlights. She gives me a sad smile before shaking her head and trudging off towards the bar.

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. I smash my palms against one of the columns by the front entrance. I don't know where these hot springs of emotion grow from, but I am angry. Angry at my father, angry with myself, and angry with Katara for not staying.

"Who the _fuck_ was that, Zuko?" A car door slams. I peer up through the darkness.

"Mai," I breathe, "It was, God, you're never going to believe who it was." I almost chuckle, because for some reason it's so impossible and bizarre and _miraculous_ that my stomach hurts from holding back my laughter.

She crosses her boney arms over her chest. Her black hair is pinned up in a messy bun. Her jeans are so loose that they almost look like a long skirt on her, her fur coat limp over her thin frame. She glares at me with angry, muddled brown eyes, "You think this is funny?"

I realize I'm grinning from ear to ear. I let my face deflate to its usual hardened state, "No, Mai, it's not funny... it's just insane. Her name is Katara. She's the girl whose mom was in the crash with my dad--"

"She looked like she was sixteen, Zuko," Mai's voice is monotone. She drums her black fingernails against her phone, "And I sent you 14 messages and called you 8 times. I was worried that something happened to you, so I went to the bar and you weren't there, then I came here and--"

"Today's the day my mom _died_ , Mai. You know it's always difficult for me."

"That doesn't warrant you bringing home some high schooler," her jaw twitches.

"Oh God, Mai, I didn't touch her--"

"Good night, Zuko," Mai stalks back to her black Porsche before starting the engine and speeding off. I check my phone, skimming over paragraphs Mai sent me about gossip she heard at dinner with her friends -- quickly transitioning into asking me multiple times about my whereabouts.

Our relationship fluctuates from the "label" of boyfriend-girlfriend to breaking up to something in between since we started dating in high school. As seniors in college, I have spent the majority of my adulthood with Mai. Now, in this non-labeled whatever mess we have, I know she'll call me tomorrow after our emotions settle.

I head back up to my apartment. I close the door softly. I slip my shoes off and lay on the couch, staring at the small divots that pepper the ceiling. The couch cushions still smell faintly of sandalwood.

************************

_Katara_

I don't know how I had an almost _spiritual_ experience drunk and alone with the man whose father killed my mother. I've experienced the euphoria and pain that faith can bring, sitting in church pews and in my twin sized bed and where my mother died and praying for all the love in the world to flood back to me after I thought God took it away.

Tonight rivaled any religious experience I've ever had, the walls blank and the wood floors gleaming and the quiet of letting our emotions hang in suspension between us. I often confuse my grief, the shattering of my family, as synonymous with my own skin. Tonight, I felt like what happened so many years ago may not be all that I am.

I needed to leave. The air turned almost sour with quiet. I wanted Zuko to start talking again, so much that his words could press upon pages and pages of a novel -- but I felt vulnerable when I was supposed to be strong in front of the son of my mother's killer.

So I stomped off, pulled my coat over my shoulders and watched the stars that looked like flecks of glitter against smeared black eye liner. I rush down the sidewalk, the heel of my boots making short scuffing sounds against the concrete. I imagine his scar, the disgusting blotch across his left eye, how tender the skin must feel to the touch. I burn his image in my mind: an ode to how my entire body acts and reacts differently since that day when my mother died because of his father. The stranger with the scar, just next to me in the same room.

More people crowd the bar and dance floor at Crabby Carson's. I'm too short to see past many peoples' heads. I grab my phone out of my pocket and text Sokka asking him where he is.

 _Bathhrom. ru with zoooko still?_ , he responds immediately, and judging from the quality of his text, he's more drunk than he was when I left.

 _I'm by the front. Meet at bar?_ , I reply. He gives my message a "thumbs up," so I push my way past the throngs of people towards the bar. I grab a stool along the edge and rest my head on the wall.

"Huh, you came back," The bartender from earlier smirks at me and leans over the counter towards me, "Want something to drink?"

My cheeks sizzle a hot pink, "Sure, um, two shots of vodka, please. Whatever's cheapest." _As if it's not obvious I'm a broke freshman in college_ , I sigh to myself.

"You got it," Jet, I think his name is, but I don't remember, winks at me then walks off to look through vodka bottles along the back wall.

"Hey, sis! How was Zaku?" Sokka's voice sounds more like a screech when he sits beside me at the bar.

"Um, his name is Zuko, not Zaku," I roll my eyes, "And it, I don't know. It was... different." I stare at my phone in my lap and avoid looking at my brother.

"Well, I don't know what the hell you mean, but what's new?" Sokka gives me a hardy slap against my back. Jet returns with our shots, and I slip him a $10 bill and tell him he can keep the change.

"Throwing your money away," Sokka wipes his mouth after we finish our shots.

"Oh shush," I unlock my phone and notice that my Facebook messenger has a notification, so I open it. Someone I'm not friends with named Mai Kwong, and she writes...

"What the _fuck_ ," I slap my hand over my mouth. I stare at the message: _How was your night with Zuko??_


	4. April 1: Night - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facebook stalking as a pastime.

_Katara_

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sokka nudges me as I gape down at my phone in my hands.

"I just got the _oddest_ message from some random girl on Facebook," I hold the screen right in front of my brother's face, so close his eyes slightly cross.

"Wait, lemme hold it steady," Sokka snatches my phone out of my hands to read the message aloud, " _'How was your night with Zucko_?'"

"Jesus, Sokka. It's pronounced _Zuko_ ," I roll my eyes, "I have no idea who she is, but I assume it's his friend, or like, girlfriend?"

"Yeah, weird," Sokka scrunches his nose, "What are you gonna say to her? Do you even think you'll accept her request?"

"I don't know. I wanna stalk this girl's profile," I take my phone back and click on Mai's Facebook profile, "Columbia University. She's supposed to graduate this year... she went to Monty Prep for high school, so her parents must make bank."

I begin scrolling through her pictures. Her profile picture is her soft smiling with a fruity drink, her makeup perfected to sculpt her high cheek bones. Her dark eyeliner is winged out up towards her temples. The next picture is her lying against the back of a boat in some tropical place where the water burns blue. She bites her lip and poses with her sunglasses down towards the tip of her nose so you can see her dark eyes. And the next picture...

"Oh," I grumble and show Sokka, "I guess they are dating." Mai stands next to Zuko, leaning in to kiss his cheek as he squints at the camera while wearing a Monty Prep lacrosse uniform.

"Wow. She's kinda hot," Sokka cranes his head towards the screen to look closer.

"I'm telling Suki," I giggle and go to my messages.

"No, Katara!" Sokka yelps and tries to grab my phone from my hands, but I've already typed out to Suki, _Zuko said another girl was hot tonight_. The _swoosh_ of a sent message sounds from my phone.

"Katara, you little bitch!" Sokka smacks himself on the forehead, "Fine, just let me look at her pictures a little more since I've already dug my own grave with Suki."

I laugh so hard that no air comes out, just my stomach making little jerks until it aches. I hand my phone to Sokka and wipe the tears starting to form from the corners of my eyes.

"Actually, I don't want to look at any more pictures of her," Sokka hands my phone back to me.

I stare down at my screen, "Sokka! What the _actual_ fuck!" I slam my fists on the bar, attracting the stares of the bartender and some of the people around us. I give a weak smile to them, then glare at my brother. Sokka accepted Mai's message request and responded with two crying-laughing emojis.

"Now I have to respond and tell her nothing happened," I groan, "What should I tell her? That I didn't mean to send two crying-laughing emojis?"

Sokka shrugs. I sigh and draft a message, then read it aloud to, " _'Not sure how you know my name or that I was with Zuko tonight, but...'"_ My voice trails off. I don't want to explain to Zuko's girlfriend the circumstances of the crash, or how we met twice by coincidence, and in that room, together...

"What about, ' _but we just talked. Nothing happened. Those emojis were a mistake. Sorry!!_ " I look up at Sokka and he nods. I send the message and put my phone back in my pocket.

**********************

_Zuko_

I open my eyes, only to be assaulted by the brightness of the ceiling lights. I turn around to look for Katara, thinking maybe she poured herself some water or went to the bathroom -- but I remember. She left. I must've dozed off on the couch.

I grab my phone. It's only 11:23, and I have two unread messages from Mai. _Weird. She usually waits at least a few hours to let me feel guilty for making her mad_ , I think as I open them.

A rush of heat tingles up my neck, into my ears, and across my cheeks. _Messaged your little bitch_ , she typed along with a screenshot of a Facebook messenger chat between her and Katara Yimida. To misinterpret me bringing Katara into my apartment as romantic...

Mai must feel threatened by Katara. Out of curiosity, I search her name on Facebook. "Jesus," I mumble as I read that she's a freshman at MIT. She graduated from Elmswood High School, a public high school a few towns over. I click on her profile picture and immediately understand Mai's jealousy.

Baby blue eyes squinting at the camera, dark brown hair kissed by the sun in streaks to a warm cocoa color. The faint outline of her stomach muscles above her cool blue bikini, the visible strength in her legs. She's laughing. She's happy.

I am dumbfounded that this is the same half-child half-woman who cried on my couch only a few hours ago, whose knees touched the place earlier this morning where our mothers both died. I wanted to make her happy tonight because we shared the same current of grief for a few moments. Maybe, if she felt less sad, then I would feel less guilty about that day.

I read the screenshot of Mai's conversation with Katara. _Bold move_ , I smirk at Katara's two crying laughing-emojis then her apathetic response explaining how nothing happened between us.

"Oh _shit_ ," I mutter at the last message Mai sent which Katara has yet to read: _Have fun thinking you're hot shit because you're a freshman getting fucked by a senior. He'll drop you in a second._

I wrinkle my nose in contempt. I knew of Mai's reputation as nearly venomous in high school, but I only witnessed it first hand when it was directed at me; I mainly focused on lacrosse and academics and of course my relationship with Mai instead of the archetypal high school social scene. I did not care if Mai exploded on other girls back then, but Katara, already wilting on the death day of both of our mothers... I throw my phone to the other side of the couch.

I feel my ears prickle. This, this is the climax, the moment that tops all of the other the times Mai has forced herself into pockets of my life that do not concern her. This is the first time she's intervened into something involving the crash.

 **********************

_Katara_

"Sokka, look what she said now," I take a long swig of my Corona Light and flash Sokka my screen.

" _'Have fun thinking you're hot shit because you're a freshman getting fucked by a senior. He'll drop you in a second_ ,'" Sokka reads aloud, then chuckles, "I mean, but real shit, did you guys do--"

"No. _No_. How can you even _ask_ that? It's Zuko, the son of, of..." I shake my head in my hands.

"I've heard of weirder things happening," Sokka shrugs and finishes the rest of his beer, "But I'd take that girl's message as a compliment. She's clearly threatened by you, and thinks Zuko is interested in you."

A blush coats my cheeks. I click on Mai's profile again and scroll to the picture of her and Zuko. I click on Zuko's profile, and...

"Shit. Zuko's a senior at Harvard. Oh my _God_ ," I gape at my phone in my hands. His profile picture features a shirtless boat pic of him and one of his friends. Muscle springs out from his arms, chest, stomach, and legs.

"Just your type, Tara," Sokka nudges me as I stare at the picture of Zuko, "A smart athlete."

"Shut _up_!" I switch back to Facebook messenger. I finish the last of my beer. My fingers stick to my screen as I attempt to type a coherent message that only results in, _seriously, nothihn hapennedd_. I delete the words instead of sending them; why not let Mai, a _senior_ in college, feel shaky about me ignoring her message? She obviously sent it in hopes of eliciting some kind of response.

"Wanna go in like 20 minutes?" Sokka yawns before patting me on the back.

I nod my head, "I'm really glad we came out tonight, Sokka." Sokka agrees and plunges into a random story about a massive Boston University party he was at last semester; he's a junior there and thinks he runs the entire campus's social scene. I laugh and sigh and pretend to be mad at his classic frat boy antics when I'm supposed to, but all I can think of is how soft the air felt while I sat on that couch with Zuko.

           

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. I was a king under your control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title = "King" by Years and Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: emotionally abusive relationship 
> 
> Before you read this chapter, I would like to make something very clear: Mai and Zuko's relationship is not a healthy one. Whether you would categorize it as emotionally abusive or not, the dynamic between Mai and Zuko is not one I wish to portray without discussing it first. We are so often confronted with these sorts of muddled relationships in TV shows, novels, movies, and with friends and family that our society normalizes them: the push and pull between people, the dramatic words spilled, the epic reunions and fights. Yes, some relationships require more effort and reconstruction than others, and lovers must experience each other in different ways to figure out if their relationship is something worth pursuing or staying in -- but there is a sometimes indecipherable line between healthy and unhealthy relationships. Mai exhibits abusive behavior in her intrusiveness into Zuko's personal life along with the obsessive texts and calls she sends. Zuko is completely desensitized to Mai's abusive behavior, as most people in abusive relationships fail to recognize the abuse that they are conditioned to accept. I do not want to normalize Zuko and Mai's relationship. 
> 
> PS: I apologize for the months-long wait. I have been a very busy gal! I'm going to start titling each chapter either a lyric or lines from a poem that are the mood of the chapter.

_Katara_

The metal bench presses against the back of my bare thighs. I sink into my coat wrapped up to my ears. Sokka stands a few yards away, drunkenly whispering something to Suki over the phone. The clanging of glasses and the hum of voices and the din of music sound from Crabby Carson's behind me. I think about the way the street always looks bigger when no cars drive down it, all shadows like ink or the skin of a black snake searching for prey. I feel open, uncovered, sitting there underneath the moon that rises above the patches of clouds.

"Katara, what are _you_ all mopey for?" Sokka sits next to me and flicks my cheek with one of his fingers. His breath smells like the beers we just finished.

"Nothing. I'm just tired, I guess," I mumble into my coat.

Suki pulls up in her red 2010 Honda Accord a few minutes later. I give her a weak smile, and Sokka whispers something about me being tired before they hold hands in between the seats. Their voices are low, as lovers' always are, soft and melting into the faint hum of the radio -- someone singing about kisses and alcohol and a storm in your chest when you feel something for someone. I turn my head to stare at the buildings and trees we rush past.

My eyes look glassy in the reflection in the car window. Suki pulls up to our house, the one made of bricks and black shutters, the one with the potted pansies on the front porch and an oak tree in the side yard. "Thanks for the ride, Suki. Sokka, are you coming in now?" I open the door and lean my head back into the car.

"I'll be in in a few," Sokka glances back at me and then at Suki. I shut the door and walk up the path to the front door. Momo, our 3 year old black and white Border Collie, bolts off his dog bed by the front window. He pounces on me as I open the door. I sit down on the wood floor to take my boots off, his little pink tongue licking all over my face.

Everything is dark except for one kitchen light on over the island. I traipse up the steps. The blue bathroom tiled floor is cold against my bare feet. I take my makeup off, feeling like I'm ripping away a mask I've worn all night. For the first time tonight, I notice how _tired_ my eyes seem.

The black eyeliner on my left eye refuses to come off even with cotton balls and Q-tips soaked in makeup remover. I rub and rub until the skin turns blotchy, pink and aching from the contact. My hands are stained with smears of black and tan. I wash my face and refuse to look in the mirror again when I brush my teeth.

I slip into bed. I pull the covers up past my nose, my fingers circling the tender patch of skin across my eye. I think of the scar over Zuko's eye, a few towns over, in his apartment. I think of what it would feel like for fire to press up against such a sensitive, essential part of the body -- the part you perceive the world with. His eyes reminded me of the empty space in a book where ripped pages used to be.

         

_Zuko_

I turn the shower knob almost all the way to the right. The water is not warm. It is hot, so hot that it makes my fingers twitch when I test the temperature. I turn the shower knob a little bit to the left.

I take two huge gulps from my wine glass on the bathroom sink. The air tumbles with heat, and my reflection is wrapped in white steam. I don't know why, but my fingers unlock my phone and open the Facebook messenger app. I search for Katara's name.

The steam rolls off the marble floors and granite countertops of the bathroom, circulating from wall to wall. I should and I shouldn't. I feel like I'm breathing water and no air.

 _Mai told me she messaged you, and I'm sorry. Just ignore her._ , I type out and hit the blue arrow. I let the towel drop from around my waist and almost fully slide open the glass shower door. I turn around; one message isn't enough.

 _Why did you leave_ , my fingers slide along the screen. I let the message hang there until the screen darkens, then goes completely black. I slide open the glass shower door all the way and step in. The shower water pounds at the back of my head and down my shoulders.

I dizzy myself remembering all of today's moments -- the chilly walk to the site of the crash, Katara's cocked fists, Fireball on my tongue, Katara in this apartment, on my couch, beside me. Her voice cracked, the ocean whipping the sand on the shore.

I contemplate texting Mai as I step out of the shower. I check my phone; Katara hasn't viewed my message. I add her as a friend, hoping to draw her attention.

I delete the unsent message, _Why did you leave_. I know why she left: she despises anything that reminds her of the man who killed her mother, and I am as close to my father as she will ever communicate with. I could not give her anything more than my knowledge of what happened so many years ago on this day. She took it and left.

I hear my phone ding and wipe the moisture off of the screen as I flop down onto my bed. Two texts from Mai. One is a picture of her boobs in the red lace pushup bra I bought her for Christmas one year. Half of her stomach peeks out at the bottom of the picture. The other is a text, _Why don't you want me anymore??_

I type _I do_ , but then stop. I rub my temples with my fingers and close my eyes. I delete the message. _Come over tomorrow morning_ , I text her back.

 

_Mai_

I lace my Balenciagas up. _Zuko always thinks I have the best shoes_ , I smile as I realize I haven't showed him my Triple Ss yet, the ones with the contrasting cream sides and tan soles.

I don't turn the radio on when I slip into my car. I want silence. The leather seats are cold against the backs of my thighs. I smooth my jean skirt and start the engine.

In high school, I used to flip through the Restoration Hardware magazines and pick out what furniture I think me and Zuko would both like when we moved into an apartment in the city together, or a house along the coast. We talked about marriage, and a big house without kids or pets, a place we could love each other quietly and fiercely -- alone and away from everything. I don't know anymore.

I park in my usual spot in the visitor's lot, right underneath a sycamore tree surrounded by a row of rose bushes. I text him that I'm here.

We don't speak on the elevator ride up. Our fights always end up like this, without us talking and then eventually kissing and shedding our clothes until we're not angry anymore.

"Why won't you look at me?" I stare at his amber eyes, locked on the handle of his apartment door as he holds it open for me.

He shrugs. I slip my sneakers off before sitting cross-legged on the couch, "You know you're gonna need to talk to me, or we can just cut right to it."

"Cut right to what, Mai?" Something thrashes in the back of his throat when he asks me this. He takes a seat on the other side of the couch, feet planted firmly on the ground and arms crossed over his chest.

"When we make each other feel good, Zu," I slide my fingers across to his thigh. He inches away from me.

"No, Mai. Not this time." He's staring straight ahead.

"What the hell does that mean, Zuko?"

"You know what it means," he snaps his head towards me, and I see that his cheeks are tinted red.

"Are you saying we're done?"

"I, I don't know," he runs his fingers through his hair, "What you did last night was unacceptable."

" _Unacceptable_? Why are you talking to me like you're my dad or fucking Principal McLerman from Monty?"

"You can't even see it," He shakes his head then turns to glare at me.

"See what? Stop speaking to me in code and talk like a normal human being."

"How horrible it was for you to stick your head into something that didn't concern you."

"Oh my _God_. This is about that Katara girl, isn't it?" My nails press into my palms.

"I guess you're right," Zuko sighs, "This _is_ about Katara. You didn't give a single fuck that I talked to her about my fucked up dad and my dead mom and my fucked up life, that I felt relief and comfort in talking to the daughter of the woman my dad _killed_."

"Ok, no, that's not why I got so ma--"

"Be mad at me all you want. I don't give a fuck anymore. You have taken every part of my life and spun it against me -- even the _crash_ ," he stands up now and stalks off towards the television.

"Zuko, what happened last night was not about the crash. It was about you being alone with that girl, doing whatever--"

"And I _told_ you what happened with that girl. Nothing physical, just words. Yet that response wasn't good enough. I am _never_ good enough."

I blink back tears, "Zu, baby, you're really making this a bigger deal than it really is. You know these little fights we have, they're so stupid in the long run..."

"This is not a little fight. This is my life, and my fucked up family," he sits down in the leather arm chair across from the couch.

"I still think about us together, when we're older, you know," my voice is hopeful. I stare at him from underneath my long, black-mascared eye lashes.

"I don't want this anymore, Mai," he says his words with precision, "You should leave now."

"Zu, this isn't like you--"

"Please, just leave," he stands up and walks towards the door.

"OK, I'll text you later then when you're not so _angry_ ," I squeeze into my sneakers and hope my words whip him.

"No. I don't think we should talk anymore," He leans against the island in his kitchen and stares at the wooden floor boards.

"You mean like, this is 'done' done?" I gape up at him.

"Yes. Good bye, M--"

I don't even hear him say my name, because I've already slammed the door and am rushing down the steps.

 


	6. I'm acting like I don't see every // Ribbon you used to tie yourself to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: "Sober" by Lorde

_Katara_

The hard wood floor of my room is a mosaic. Sunlight filters through the curtains in strands, creating a labyrinth of gold. I watch the light sway. Bacon sizzles on the frying pan, the sound of grease so loud that it wakes me up every Sunday morning. I let out a sleepy sigh.

I reach for my phone, scrolling through the usual text and Snapchat notifications. My Facebook app has two notifications, and I fear that girl Mai sent another message, but -- a message and friend request from _Zuko Fukuda_? The bottom of my throat rises up to meet the inside of my lips, and I swallow as I feel like I'm about to spit up a firework the size of my fist.

"You're kidding," I slap my hand on my forehead, " _Why_?"

I open up the message, _Mai told me she messaged you, and I'm sorry. Just ignore her_. I roll my eyes. I feel like I'm trapped in the middle of an episode of Gossip Girl.

I draft a lengthy response in my Notes app:

_I appreciate you reaching out to me, but I truly don't want any more conflict. I don't know why you felt the need to insinuate to your girlfriend that we did anything more than talk, especially when the conversation we had was--_

I think back to that room, the couch that held us that night. _So raw_? _Unbelievable_? I have no idea how to describe what passed between us. I don't even know if he experienced the same form of resolution as I did.

I settle on _more than personal_. I leave it like that, copying the message into Facebook messenger and pressing send. I throw my phone on my bed before walking downstairs and into the kitchen. The linoleum floor of the kitchen is cold against my bare feet. I take a seat at the table. My dad flips pancakes over the stove, his back to me.

"'Tara, how was your night?" he calls over his shoulder as he shuts off the stove, "Not too bad if you're up for breakfast, right?" The wrinkles along his eyes deepen as he grins at me over his shoulder. His jet black hair springs out in a million different directions, reminding me of a mad scientist from the cartoons me and Sokka used to watch as kids.

"It was... weird," I mutter as my dad brings over two platters heaping with bacon and pancakes. The table is already set for three, so I grab the butter and maple syrup from the fridge before sitting back down.

My dad scooches into the seat next to me, "Weird? What makes you say that?"

"A weird past 24 hours, actually," I clarify as my dad pours me a glass of water. His stone gray eyes urge me on.

"OK, so, I went to the crash site like I always do, this random older guy, like only a few years older, is there, says he's Ozai Fukuda's son and is also there to mourn his mom... fast forward to last night when he happens to be in the bar we went to," I say in between gulps.

"Wow. That does sound like quiet the night you had. What was the Fukuda boy like? Better than his father, I hope?" My dad plops a large pancake and three slices of bacon on his plate.

"He was better. A lot better, actually," I glance at the stairs after hearing Sokka's begrudging footsteps on the wooden steps.

"Jesus, Katara, you are so loud. You don't realize how far your voice carries," Sokka rubs his eyes before sliding into his seat at the table, "And you're really just gonna act like nothing else happened last night?"

Strings of red hot anger shoot up my arms. I squeeze the edge of the table so hard that my knuckles turned white, "Sokka, _stop_."

"Oh, you're not gonna tell dad yourself? I guess I'll have to..." Sokka smirks as he takes a bite of his bacon. My dad tries to read our expressions and fails.

"OK, Dad, it's gonna sound crazy, but nothing happened. I promise. I was emotional about mom and Zuko said I could talk about it with him at his apartment to clarify what happened... so we went and talked and he told me the reason for the crash. His dad hit his mom, then lost control of the wheel. Zuko was the other passenger." I stare at my empty plate, my voice small.

My dad nods, his brow furrowed in thought. _Fuck his stoicism_ , I reach for the pancakes and bacon.

"Crazy, _crazy_ shit. Glad we are nothing like that family," Sokka scarfs down half of his pancake.

"You know, Katara, we can never truly understand what another person is going through. Each situation has sides you will never know about," my dad smiles at me and Sokka, "I wish their family peace."

I nod as I take my first bite of my pancake. Breakfast conversation turns to recollecting on spring break, and hope for summer, and how happy my dad is to have us home. I load my dishes in the dishwasher before jogging up the steps.

Zuko hasn't viewed my message, but I accept his friend request. Zuko's Facebook profile, like most guys', doesn't display much of a personality. There are some pictures he's tagged in outside of a corporate banking headquarters in New York City; the caption reads, Best investment banking interns this city has ever seen. Everyone stands in a long line, ironed out dress shirts and tidy-looking dresses, beaming with pride -- except for him. His eyes seem like they're staring past the camera, and he barely smiles. A few more pictures in various crowded bars and clubs in New York and Boston, his eyes squinting from the flash as he holds a bottle of beer.

"Whatcha doing?" I pop my head up and slam my laptop shut as Sokka pokes his head into my bedroom.

"Nothing," I glare at him as I sit cross-legged on my bed, "Are you leaving now?"

He nods, "I'm trying to catch the 10:25. I'll see you in a few weeks, though."

"Probably more like a week if you actually show up to Toph's charity event like you said you would. You know how much she wants you there."

"Oh yeah. When is that, again?" Sokka scratches his head.

"This Saturday at some bar in Hyde Park. It should be fun. I think Aang's visiting that weekend, and it's for a good cause: helping visually impaired children in South America."

"OK, OK, I think I can go. I'd be surprised if the bouncer even attempts to look at whatever Aang's fake ID is."

I roll my eyes, "You know, Aang the _charmer_. He'll find a way in just like he always does."

Sokka gives me a quick hug before throwing his backpack over his shoulder, "Well, I guess I'll see you in 6 days. Love you, Kat."

I give him one last wave before he walks down the stairs with Momo at his heels, "Love you too, Sokka."

 

_Zuko_

I wake up to my Uncle Iroh's contented humming from the kitchen. I fell back asleep once Mai left, the entire conversation completely exhausting me. I check my phone for the time, and -- _Katara Yimida sent you a message_ three hours ago.

I read her message and am frustrated. She didn't witness the conversation that me and Mai had after she left last night. She assumed that I _told_ Mai that we hooked up, especially considering the vicious message Mai sent. I told Mai the truth. She chose not to believe it.

My fingers tap against the screen, _I'm not with Mai anymore_. I send it, then type a second message. The words spew out of me, and I don't know why I'm telling Katara all this, but I just do, _She did not believe me when I said we only talked. She took it too far last night not realizing how important our conversation was._ I press send.

"How was New York, Uncle?" I walk out of my room and lay back on the couch.

"Oh, very good. Went to a few places in Chinatown with my old friend, Gary Lee. Such a nice man," Uncle Iroh's eyes squish up towards his forehead as he smiles, "And how was your weekend, Zuko? I'm very sorry I was not here for yesterday, but--"

"Actually, yesterday was... better than it has been in the past," I rub the back of my neck, my eyebrows furrowing as I try to correctly describe last night.

"Ah! And why was that?" Uncle Iroh's long gray hair is half pulled up in a top knot balancing on top of his head. He blows at the tea sitting on the kitchen counter, his amber eyes the same color as the tea.

"It was just different, in a good way," I shrug and turn on the television.


	7. Shooters Shoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shooters shoot (via Urban Dictionary): An exclamation or interjection. Used when taking a chance with a low risk but a high reward. Often an encouragement before making a proposition to the other sex. Can be used to dismiss a failed advance.

_Zuko_

I'm surprised to hear the ping of my Facebook messenger app 20 minutes after I responded. I'm still on the couch. Uncle Iroh is dozed off in one of the recliners. The sky is overcast outside, and an episode of Workaholics plays on the TV.

 **Katara Yimida** : Good for you for sticking up for yourself

 **Katara Yimida** : and I mean that

I click on her profile. I notice that she accepted my friend request. She has a bunch of pictures she's tagged in, a few of her in what I assume are the frats at MIT: red cropped top bunched up towards her chest, tattered jean shorts and some white high tops. There's another picture of her from this past New Year's, her cheeks hollowed and lips wrapped around a party blower. 

"Fuck it," I mutter to myself.

 **Zuko Fukuda** : Why did you leave last night

My phone buzzes five minutes later:

 **Katara Yimida** : What?

" _Idiot_ ," I huff. I stalk off into my room and slam the door. I strip and rummage through my dresser drawers for a pair of running shorts and a Lululemon workout tee. I yank my socks on before slipping my feet into my sneakers.

"Zuko, is everything alright?" My uncle calls from the other side of the door.

"I'm fine. I just need to go workout. Right _now_ ," I push past him as I grab my keys off the counter.

I tear down the road, weaving through the lanes of traffic. I allow myself to slip into this frustration -- I can be reckless if I want. I swerve into the parking lot, reveling in the feeling of tires screeching. I throw my hat on and pop my airpods in before storming through the gym doors.

I don't make eye contact with the trainer at the desk as I swipe my card. I climb up on the stair stepper and press "start." My Muse workout playlist blasts in my ears. I grip the sides of the machine, stomping up step by step.

 _She -_ step- _didn't -_ step- _feel -_ step- _what -_ step- _you -_ step- _felt_.

Sweat builds at my temples and drips past my hairline, a thick sheen of moisture coating my jaw. I pound my way up and up and up for 25 minutes until my lungs feel as if they're crinkling away inside of me.

I slide onto one of the benches. I load each side of the bar with a plate. As the sting skips across my chest, the smell of the iron so close to my face, I add on more weight -- not even caring about how many pounds at this point. The sinking of the bar towards my body, my quick push away -- I read that word over and over in my mind during each rep. _What_? _What_? _What_?

My arms almost falter. I shake. The bar hovers over me, a sliver of an inch away from crushing me. I bit my lower lip. A groan rips through the bottom of my throat. I think of her blue eyes, turning away from me -- I push the bar away.

 

\-- Saturday, 6 Days Later --

_Katara_

"Hey, I'm here! Can you come get me, please?" I talk into my phone. I stand outside of a large brick building which I hope is Toph's dorm at Tufts.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be down in a second," Toph says before hanging up. In a matter of minutes, she opens the large glass door. Her jet black hair is pinned back in a messy bun. She wears an emerald green romper with black platform sandals.

"Wow, Kat, you look _hot_. Well, from what I can see of you, at least," she hugs me before giving me an up and down.

"Your blindness jokes aren't funny anymore," I roll my eyes, "And no, I really don't." I pat my black leather skirt and adjust the halter on my black body suit.

A bacterial infection as an infant left Toph completely blind in one eye with serious damage to the other. She grew up down the street from me, and our friendship started through touch and conversations as opposed to looking at each other. Through multiple corrective procedures, she regained complete sight in the less damaged eye by the time she was 6.

"You brought White Claws!" Toph nearly shrieks as she rips the box from my hands, " And Aang's already here, so I expect him to try to confess his love to you at least twice before we even leave for the bar."

"He's _not_ in love with me. You know that, I know that, and _he_ knows that," I push my hair out of my face as Toph holds the door for me. She gives me a wink.

We climb up two flights of stairs before Toph turns around and giggles, "Prepare yourself. He's _really_ excited to see you."

Toph opens the stairwell door and gestures to the room across from us. I open the door.

"Look who I found!" Toph beams. Aang is crouched over some book he's reading on the floor, his hand wrapped protectively around an IPA. His head is completely shaved, and I notice a blue arrow tattoo on his right hand. He looks up, then bolts towards me.

His arms are around me, and he nuzzles his head into my neck, "Ka-ta-ra, I missed you..." He mumbles into my shoulder. I smile and hug him back. His back feels more muscular than it did when I saw him over winter break.

"Aang, what the hell is that tattoo?" I break away from the embrace and gesture to his hand.

"Oh, this?" he flashes a toothy grin, "I got it done up at school. It's supposed to ground me in the present -- like a breath of fresh air."

"God, it is painful how well you fit in at the University of Vermont," Toph cracks open a White Claw and takes a sip.

"I agree. You're getting more hippy-dippy by the day. Must be something in the Vermont water," I laugh, "Or maybe in the weed. But it looks cool, Aang."

Aang wraps his arm around me, "Thanks. And what have you been up to, Katara? How was spring break?"

I think of Zuko. I don't think of his gray cotton t-shirt, the warmth of his apartment, the room holding us as we sat apart on his couch, tearing down the street afterwards. I think of that little bubble just beneath my Facebook message to him that shows he read my response and chose to ignore it.

He asked me why I left. I don't know what prompted him to ask me that, or even what the question itself meant. I tried to clarify -- and he ignored me. I've known since I was 14 that boys will do dumb things, and Zuko is no exception.

"It was good. Just hung out with my dad and Sokka all week," I smile and then eye a bottle of Svedka sitting on Toph's desk, "Alright, I'm ready to get fucked up."

_Zuko_

She shares a girl named Toph Beifong's event, "Fight for Sight Night," on Facebook on Tuesday night. _My friend, Toph, is teaming up with some of her friends at Tufts for a fundraiser at the Blue Gecko bar in Boston! Cover fee = $15 which will go to fund treatment for visually impaired students in South America. Blue Gecko is donating a dollar for each person who goes. We hope to see you there :)_

"Mason, have you ever been to Blue Gecko in downtown Boston?" I call to my roommate from the kitchen table of our apartment in Cambridge.

"Naaaaah, maaaan, whhhhy?" He yells from the bathroom as he brushes his teeth.

"I don't know. Someone on Facebook said there's a fundraiser there on Saturday. We should go," I close my laptop and poke my head through the bathroom door.

"Alright, I'm down. Just need to get that business proposal assignment out of the way and I think I'll be good," his hair swoops out from his ears and almost reaches his eyes.

"Dude, you need a haircut," I walk to my bedroom, "But let's do it."


	8. I like the way you blush/I like the way you bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara's stubbornness is annoying me and I'm the one writing this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going back and putting fun little summaries for previous chapters. I know this story has been smut-less so far, but the angst and mutual pining (even if Katara won't admit it) will only make it better!
> 
> Title = "New Girl" by Finneas

_Zuko_

"I feel like we're at a nursery right now," Mason gestures out to the surprisingly large crowd packed inside the Blue Gecko. He's right; most of the kids here look like they just graduated high school. Our Uber dropped us off 15 minutes ago, and we are polishing off the last sips of our vodka sodas at the bar.

"Who did you say you knew here?" Mason pushes his now empty glass away.

I tip my head back and finish my vodka soda, "I don't know anyone here. I saw there was a charity event here for deaf people, and it seemed like a cool venue, so I figured we should just try it out."

Mason gives me a light punch on the shoulder, "You fucking idiot. It's a charity event for the visually impaired." He shakes his head and smirks at me.

"Yeah, that's what I meant. I have to hit the bathroom. Do you mind ordering a round of tequila shots?" I crane my neck towards the throngs of people surrounding us. Mason shoots me a thumb's up, and I push past the line of people at the bar.

The multicolored lights chase each other around the Blue Gecko, across peoples' heads and along the brick walls, towards the front doors then the bar and back again. I can barely see the faces a few feet ahead of me, so I keep my eyes fixed on one pink light in particular. Large gecko sculptures cling to the ceiling, their tongues circled with string lights that flash red every few seconds.

I skim the room, following the light with my eyes, and -- there. "Fuck," I mumble to myself. She's draped across the far wall next to the bathrooms, smiling to her friend. Her hands look small around the drink she's holding, nails painted some shade of neon, maybe orange, but I can't tell. Her eyes are a polar plunge blue.

I am fully aware of the odd situation I've created for myself: standing in the middle of a large mass of drunk under-aged kids in the heart of Boston as I stalk a nineteen year-old girl I met twice. I came, I fucking came, because I knew she'd be here.

I just need to know. I weave through the bodies pressed up against one another, watch the lights hit her cheeks. Her mouth blooms into a smile as she looks at her friend. I am a few steps away.

I turn towards the bathroom as I cut across the last few people between us, hoping to cross her line of vision without her realizing I've been staring at her all this time. I want her to bite, to see me --

"Zuko?" I turn. A boy with a shaved head and a short girl with black hair stand next to her in bewilderment.

I let my eyes fall from her neck down the place where her shoulder meets her throat, where her black halter top presses against her skin. Her leather skirt is tight and reflects the lights now and again. Her eyes are ice.

She speaks again, "Zuko, what are you doing here?" She crosses her arms over her chest. Her two friends whisper to each other.

"What are you doing here?" I step closer so that I can smell her, the light sea salt scent that clung to my couch after she left, "I didn't think you were even old enough to be at a bar."

She glares at me, "I'm nineteen, but this is a charity event... so what?"

She glances at her friends who have been staring at her all this time, "Um, guys, this is Zuko. I met him at Crabby Carson's last week when I went with Sokka. These are my friends, Aang and Toph."

I flash a smile and shake their hands, "Nice to meet you both." I look back at Katara who drops her eyes to the ground.

"Hey, can you guys grab me a drink while I talk to Zuko really quickly?" She eyes her friends who throw me another glance before the girl, Toph, drags the boy, Aang, away by the arm.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She snarls, jabbing one of her fingers into my chest once her friends are out of earshot.

I wrap my hand around her finger stuck on my chest -- only to push hers away, "I'm just out on a Saturday night at a bar in Boston. Not a big deal."

"I, I don't get it," she pushes her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, "I don't get why you're here. How did you know I was here?" Those blue eyes, like icicles about to snap.

I can tell she's thinking by the way her eyes survey my face. Before I can form any sort of response, her mouth widens in an "o" as she realizes, "Oh my God. Did you see my Facebook post?"

I rub the back of my neck and stare at the brick wall behind her before I nod my head.

Her voice softens, "Why did you come here, then?"

"I just wanted to see you, after everything that happened..." My voice trails off.

She glares up at me, "But you ignored me."

"What?"

"You ignored my message on Facebook. I don't get why you'd come all the way to this bar instead of just replying to my Facebook message."

"It seemed like you didn't wanna talk to me," I lean down so my lips are almost pressed up to the shell of her ear, "You just replied, 'What?' as if you had no idea what I was talking about."

She's trapped, me in front of her and the wall against her back, "I, I didn't know what you meant when you asked me why I left." She avoids my eyes.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

She shakes her head.

"Don't tell me you were in that room and didn't feel it."

She narrows her eyes at me and growls, "Zuko, I think you're just drunk. I don't know what you think you--"

"I saw you. I was there. I was with you."

"I'm, I need to go find my friends," she turns her back to me and brushes past me towards the bar.


	9. You say we're just friends but I swear when nobody's around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More drunken bar antics. Zuko's a mush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are "Better" by Khalid

_Katara_

I rush back to the bar. My cheeks are ablaze, as if a gust of hot air crashed over my face. The music warped into something softer when I saw Zuko, in front of me, straying against the crowd.

He was so _close_ to me. His hand clasping mine before letting go, a retreat. He smelt like charred wood, slices of fresh oranges. I almost pressed my nose up to the fabric of his black cotton shirt. 

I think I was, am just drunk. Just drunk. I need another drink so I don't think about his face bending down towards mine.

I shove past people, trying to spot Toph's short little bob or Aang's shaved head, or that pink scar that stretches over Zuko's eye. I turn back towards where I left him, but there are too many people in this bar.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" I yelp as my elbow whacks into a guy's drink. Whatever he was drinking drenches his right arm, half of his chest, and part of his thigh. He's wearing khaki shorts, so the rest of the drink drips down his leg.

I look up and stare into two light blue eyes that reflect the ceiling lights. They're clear, like pools of water, so different than the amber shade of --                                                 

"Hi, um, I'm so sorry about that. Let me buy you another drink!" I flag down the bartender and ask for some paper towels. He reaches beneath the bar and tosses me a bundle of napkins still in the plastic wrap.

"Here, let me help you," the guy laughs as he rips them open, "And don't worry about it." His golden brown hair falls a little bit into his eyes when he dabs a handful of napkins on his shirt and shorts.

"No, I feel so bad," My head feels like a balloon wavering along its string when he glances at me, "Seriously, what did I spill all over you?"

"You're too sweet. Don't worry about it." Two dimples pop out of his cheeks when he smiles.

"Aw, that's so nice of you. I'm actually trying to find my friends. Have you seen a kid with a shaved head and an Asian girl with a bob?"

"Hmmmm, let me see," he stands up and looks across the bar, towering over me. "No, I don't see them, but I'll keep an eye out for them. Why don't I go get us some drinks and then your friends can come over here?"

"Ok," I slide into the stool next to his and stare at the wooden bar top, running my eyes over the lines of the grain.

"What's your name, by the way? I'm Mason." 

"I'm Katara," I give him a half-hearted smile before I turn back to look into the crowd.

 

_Zuko_

I almost thump my head against the brick wall behind where she stood. That same scent when I leaned in closer to her, like sandalwood and sea salt and vanilla. I wanted to fall into her, over her. 

The alcohol hits as I part through the crowd towards where Mason sat. I don't look for Katara. 

I'm almost back at the bar when I feel a tug on my arm. I turn around. Katara's friends stare up at me.

"Hey, Zuko! Have you seen Katara?" The girl, whose name I can't remember, huffs as she peers around me. The boy side eyes me, arms crossed over his chest.

"She actually walked back towards the bar like 5 minutes ago, but--"

"Oh, there she is!" The girl points and rushes past me, followed by the boy.

I look to where she pointed. I stop myself from following her friends who are zigzagging through the last throngs of people separating us. Katara's turned towards someone as she sits at the bar. The neon beer lights leave splashes of red and blue along her head and cheeks. Her lips are moving, quickly then slowly. 

I glance at who she's talking to. A flash of white jealousy passes over me. Mason leans in towards Katara, close enough so that his knees are touching hers. They're both engrossed in whatever conversation they're sharing.

Katara spins on her stool towards her friends. The girl friend's hands move quickly, then point back towards me as she speaks to Katara. The boy friend glares at me over his shoulder.

Katara _and_ Mason both notice me at the fringe of the bar this point. I see the confusion run across both of their faces as they realize they both know me, so I walk over to them.

"Dude, how's it going? That's so funny you two know eachother," Mason pats me on the back.

"Yeah, we met at Crabby Carson's the other weekend," I glance at Katara, whose mouth is slightly agape.

Her eyes split into mine, "How do _you two_ know eachother?" She points to me and Mason.

"Roommates," we say in unison. Katara flicks her hair from off of her shoulder, then turns to her friends.

"You didn't hook up with her or anything, right?" Mason mumbles into my ear. I think of that night, how our bodies sat apart on my couch, how something powerful strung between us that you can't give a name. We are not friends, or even acquaintances. We do not know each other. We are only linked by the day our mothers died.

I glance at Katara who is now contentedly sipping on a mixed drink through a plastic straw, "No, we didn't."

 

_Katara_

" _Katara_. How the _hell_ did you find someone like that at Crabby Carson's? I truly don't think I've ever stood in the same room as someone that hot," Toph tugs on my arm as she eyes Zuko only a few steps away from us.

I roll my eyes, "It wasn't like that. I'm not into him. We just... talked." 

"Oh, bull _shit_. He's like a hybrid of every physical trait you look for in a guy. Your perfect 'Alpha Male,'" She starts to giggle.

"No, Toph, we had a serious discussion," I will my voice not to crack, focusing on the flush of air out of my lungs and the rhythm of the music coming from the speakers.

"Serious, huh? Like if you would go home with him or not?" The White Claws during the pregame and the vodka sodas at the bar have hit Toph _hard_. Aang stalked off to the bathroom a few minutes ago saying he hated being the only boy in our friend group sometimes, so I'm left as the butt of her drunken jokes.

"No, Toph. He's, the son," I can't finish my sentence, so I sip on my vodka cranberry to help with the way the words sear the back of my throat. 

"Son of what?" She yells.

I press my mouth up to her ear, and half sob and half shriek the words, "He's Ozai Fukuda's son. His dad was the driver who killed my mom."

I step back and look at her. The bar feels like it is pooling with water, and that's just because I am sweating. I think of my mom, and the collapse after her death, and grief that does not move. But I am happy because Toph is in front of me, and we're drunk, and something about Zuko in the same room as me again makes me feel like I'm rushing towards the right things.

Toph's face crunches in on itself, and I know the next words that exit her mouth will be a spitball of expletives at Zuko. I slip in front of Zuko just as she lunges at him. She's slurring her words and it's hard to make out what she's saying because she's talking so fast, but her eyes are _tearing_ into his.

"No, no, Toph!" I yelp, pushing her back. I glance at Zuko over my shoulder, his face void of any expression as he watches Toph throw a fit.

"I'm sorry," I squeak back at him before shaking Toph, "Stop it! He's, he's a good guy!" My face flushes as I realize that Zuko probably heard me.

Toph starts to stutter as the words register. She shifts her gaze from Zuko back to me, " _Welllll_ I don't care. I jus' wanna dance." She shrugs and starts to bob her head to the beat of the music.

Zuko leans down so his lips almost graze my ear, "Glad you think I'm a good guy."


	10. He doesn't look a thing like Jesus/But he talks like a gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the hell is going on between Katara and Zuko at the bar?
> 
> Title = "When You Were Young" by the Killers

_Katara_

The last sips of my drink leave my mouth dry, my tongue like chalk against the roof of my mouth. I jumble the words in my head. They twist away, out, up towards the ceiling of the bar as I peer over my shoulder at Zuko, "I don't know how I feel about you."

Toph spins in a bunch of dizzying circles around Aang who just returned from the bathroom. Aang keeps throwing skeptical glances at me. The lights are still playing tag. I don't look at Zuko.

"But you feel something, right?" His voice is liquid, falling low, and I catch it.

"I do feel something," I stare at my fingers, tracing the parts where the light meets the shadow on the backs of my hands, "But I don't know. It doesn't, it's not-- 

"Let me buy you a drink," He's speaking to me softly, like he thinks I'll blow away.

I turn around, "Mason's already buying me one."

This is the first time that I truly _look_ at Zuko. Half of his face hangs in the darkness, the other half defined by the crisp cut of his jaw. The scar over his eye, a perpetual bruise, burns a deep red when the disco lights land on it.

His voice tugs at his throat, "Oh."

I feel a pinch of guilt between my lungs, like someone's fingers are twisting me from the inside. Zuko stares off towards the other side of the bar, tapping his fingers against the bar top. Bluish veins pop out over the backs of his hands 

He looks back at me. His eyes remind me of weathervanes that never stop turning. He's not just angry. He's _pissed_.

"I don't even know him. We were just talking," I half-plead and half-snarl at him.

Zuko huffs, "Look, Katara, I--"

"Um, Katara?" I turn around to Aang poking me in the back, "We should really take Toph back."

"Oh no." I look past Aang. Toph leans against the bar, her head slumped down towards her chest.

"She's not totally blacked out, just... fucked up." Aang scratches the back of his neck nervously.

I let out a heavy sigh as I contemplate my options, "I was just gonna take an Uber back to my dorm tonight, though. If I go with you now, I would have to Uber home in the--"

"I can make sure you get home tonight if you want." Zuko stands behind me with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, um, I feel bad leaving Aang with Toph, though." I feel my cheeks heat up and I stare at my shoes.

Aang looks from me to Zuko and back to me again, "Honestly, Katara, I should be fine. I can call the Uber to Medford now. Don't feel like you have to come with us." Aang looks down at his phone.

I feel my phone vibrate. A text from Aang, _don't go with this guy if u don't want to._

"Yeah, I mean, you should be fine alone. Zuko can make sure I get home OK." I knead the butt of my hand with my fingers, an anxious habit I've had since I was younger.

Aang texts me again, _i have u on find my friends. if this guy pulls anything on u... i swear. u better text me when ur in uber and ur home._

I roll my eyes and smile at him. He laughs and mouths, "I'm serious." I shake my head.  

"Our Uber is 5 minutes away, so I'm gonna break the news to Toph now. Maybe I'll tell her we're getting Frosties or something," Aang starts to walk away to grab Toph, but I nearly knock him over as I hug him.

"Thanks, Aang. Tell Toph I said 'bye,' and that I'll see you guys for brunch tomorrow still! Text me, OK?" I grab his face in my hands.

He smiles, "Yeah. Be safe." I nod at him as he walks away to Toph who is now sloppily punching the air to the beat of the music. Aang points in my direction, then starts to guide Toph towards the front doors, before they start off into the crowd.

I turn to Zuko, but see he's talking to Mason who is now back with the drinks he ordered for us. Zuko comes back over to me, leaving Mason at the bar, "I told him that I was gonna Uber home with you to make sure you get home OK. He's meeting up with some of our other friends from school now at another bar." 

"OK. Thanks," I offer a timid smile. Even though people surround us, I feel like the walls of the bar collapsed inwards and it's just the two of us -- just like that night on his couch. I can't force myself to look at him. 

"Should I call the Uber now?" Zuko taps my arm with the back of his hand, and I almost recoil from his touch. He hands me his phone so I can type in the address to my dorm.

"7 minutes away. Let's head out," Zuko jerks his head towards the entrance.

I nod, and he motions for me to follow him through the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there or won't there be smut in the next chapter? ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little dark at parts. Mentions of abusive behavior and sex. Not sure if I should include this in the warnings, but just a head's up that there's a simile involving necrophilia. I don't condone that, though, but felt it embodied what Zuko felt.

_Zuko_

We stand in silence outside of the bar. People still filter in and out. It's cold enough that I can see my breath when I exhale. We sit apart in the Uber, me on the left side and her on the right. The radio plays one of Boston's top hits stations. The songs are all about love.

Here, sitting apart in this car carving through the heart of Boston just before spring, I truly don't know what will happen between us. I smell her -- just the softest hint of sandalwood caught in the warm air blowing from the vents.

The Uber stops. We both thank the driver before stepping out of opposite sides of the car. It pulls away.

"Zuko," she says my name like I'm not right there in front of her, "You can come inside if you want."

I stop myself from following her in, "I mean, I don't have to." I shove my hands in my pockets and watch a loose, dead leaf skid along the pavement. If I go inside with her, I'm afraid I won't come back out.

She looks back over her shoulder, hair flying in the sudden gust of wind, "It's cold. You should come inside before you call your Uber home."

My stomach falls, and I almost place my hand there to catch it. I follow her in past a small entry way. We stand apart in the elevator. I stare at my shoes. The elevator doors open.

Her eyes remind me of a fawn's, big and almost quaking underneath the fluorescent lights of the hallway. I am _fire_ , about to consume her, burning up the brush. She doesn't back away from me like she did before. I want to eat her alive, and I don't know if she knows that.

We are alone now, in the hallway outside of her dorm room, and I am standing there begging with my eyes to _let me in_.

 

_Katara_

I feel the shadow of him along my back: not touching, but not apart. Like he's clawing for me to come closer without moving. Like his body, and my body, share a secret that I don't know. I could press back against him, quiet and quick, before my fingers slip the key into the lock and twist -- but I don't.

"I feel like we should talk," I say flatly, like I'm talking to the white walls of the hallway as my door is halfway open. I slip through the doorway, rushing to sit on my bed. I lean with my back against the wall, legs splayed out over my blue cotton comforter as I pry my shoes off. 

Zuko stands in the doorway, inspecting the room. He takes off his jacket, taking care to prop it over my desk chair. The muscles in his arms push against his black cotton t-shirt. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at the framed pictures I have on my desk.

"Is that her?" he points to the white frame with a picture of me and my mom along the cape one summer, "Your mom, I mean." 

I nod. He looks at me, and I look at my hands in my lap.

"She's pretty. You look just like her." 

"I, I used to hate when people said that," I rub my fists into my eyes tiredly, "I didn't want people to see her when they saw me."

"Why?" He moves then, carefully, standing at the foot of my bed, leaning against the edge.

"I didn't want to feel like I was a ghost. I just wanted to be me."

"Katara." He doesn't say my name. He commands it.

I look up, and he's leaning in closer over my bed, almost hunched over, like something's clawing at his stomach, "Did you really want to talk to me about something?"

I feel my cheeks heat up, "I, um, yeah."

Zuko is staring at me now. His eyes seem to _crackle_ , and I can see splinters of gold in his irises, like his eyes are gathering steam. He walks directly in front of me, kicking my shoes from the floor underneath of him, so that he's standing less than a step away, "And what's that?" 

No words come out of my mouth because there are no words to say. I don't know why I told Zuko to come up to my room with me, alone, where it seems like we're the only two people awake in Cambridge. 

His voice is softer now, and somehow, that scares me more than when we yelled at each other, "I wanna make you feel good."

 

_Zuko_

I think of Mai. The fights that left me frustrated and wanting or hardened and detached. Rough, heavy sex that would leave petals of purple bruises on her white thighs and hips. The pictures of her in silky lingerie with straps that wound around her waist. Always searching for another way to make me want her, to the point where I am convinced she was obsessed with the headiness of being lusted after.

She would almost play dead during sex, let me touch her however I wanted -- like fucking a _corpse_. I can still hear her soft murmurs, "Zuko, oh, Zuko." Those sounds when her voice would catch in her throat, like she was _performing_ for me; trying to coax some sort of affirmation out of me that even though I was the one fucking her, she held every last string of control between us.

Katara _fucking_ Yimida. She isn't concerned with power-- she _is_ power.

"We, you, you don't even _know_ me. You don't know the first thing about me," she stands up now, a few inches shorter than me when her feet hit the ground.

Something shifts, frustration like a spring twisting, her eyes boring into mine. I notice the color in her cheeks. My voice sounds like a growl, "You won't let me find out more."

"What do you want, then?" She huffs a stray hair away from her face.

I want _her_. I want her in any way I can get her, and I want her to _know_ that I want her, but she's whipping her head away from me in defiance, and I wonder why she just won't _admit_.

"I've been chasing after you for a week since I met you. You know that."

She furrows her eyebrows, then shakes her head. She pouts out her lower lip out to the point where I can see the peachy pink part of her mouth.

"I don't know how you expect anything to happen between us. Your dad killed both of our moms," She snaps at me then rubs her eyes, "God, sorry, I just, I just--"

Her lips clash with mine, like she's trying to work all of her anger out, to peel off all the years of grief. Her tongue sneaks into my mouth. I grab her hips and turn her so she's backed up against the edge of her bed. She pulls away. I step back and let my hands fall to my sides.

"I don't want to think about everything right now," she says. Her eyes are not ice anymore, just blue ocean water. She's thawing right in front of me. 

"We don't have to think about it, or talk about it. There's no rush."

She nods. There's a slight hum of the ceiling light. Branches stretch and strain against the windows. She tries to talk again, but I kiss her before she can get the words out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if there will be smut in the next chapter...? ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S M U T

_Katara_

My fingers dig into Zuko's cotton t-shirt, bunching up the fabric at his chest and pulling him closer. All of those moments I spent reaching for my mother's hands in my sleep, empty nights in a shadowed room, Zuko at the grave when the air nipped at my neck and my hands were clasped. I'm wading through the memories now. If I kiss him harder, will he feel it? Will he know like he did that first night? 

My lips push against his, wrangling for something to grasp onto besides the coolness of his mouth, but I only feel the hot shell of his tongue, warm and wanting. My voice edges at the back of my throat, a plea of his name almost sneaking out. I don't want him to hear me calling out for him like he's not there in front of me, so I pull back and bite my bottom lip in an attempt to stitch my mouth shut.

"You can say it, Katara. I wanna hear you." Zuko whispers, his voice low and falling like rocks tumbling from some higher place. He places the tip of his thumb over my bottom lip, pulling back the flesh to open my mouth. He slips half of his thumb in. My lips form a ring and suck. I don't know what he's trying to give me right now, but the place between my thighs feels thick, my skirt and underwear too tight.

"Hm, you like that?" he pants, pulling his thumb back with a _pop_. 

My cheeks heat up, and he smirks down at me. He brushes his fingers against my lips again, wiping away a strand of drool. His eyes, half-lidded and murky with something I can't place, do not leave my face.

"Fuck, Katara. _Fuck_." He raises his hands to his head and lets out a shaky breath, "Can I, can I touch you?"

I already feel stripped down in front of him, as if he slipped off every piece of clothing still hanging on my body. I imagine his fingers travelling lower, popping open the button on my skirt, the back of his hand grazing the insides of my thighs. A little part of me can't let go.

"Touch me how?" My arms cross over my chest.

 "However you want." His eyes eat away at the parts of my skin that show, "Whatever you're comfortable with."

 I don't look at him, "I, I want you to touch me, Zuko."

"I wanna go slow with you, I just, I don't think I can," his forehead creases, and I know he's telling me only a sliver of what he's thinking, and then his hands are on me.

His _hands_. They're huge, and the faint blue of his veins peaks out along the backs. He kneads the backs of my thighs, the tips of his fingers grazing just below the edge of my skirt. His hands travel upwards, and _ah_ \-- give my butt a squeeze.

I look up to see him already looking down at me. I glare back at him. He must've been watching my face twist against itself this whole time: my mouth opening, eyes growing heavy, breath hitching.

"What's that face for?" Zuko's eyebrows furrow.

" _Nothing_." I huff.

"OK, well, do you want me to take your clothes off?"

I nod my head, "Yes, Zuko, just, just please do it already."

His fingers play with the halter strap of my bodysuit, and he pulls and pulls until the elastic snaps back against my skin. He traces his fingers over my collarbone -- _cautious_. His palm meets my chest, and I let out a small cry. He grins.

"Why do you keep smiling like that?" I flick the loose hairs away from my face, "Just--" 

"Stop _talking_ , Katara." He smirks as his fingers find the button of my skirt and tug.

"No, _you_ stop talking." I roll my bodysuit off so I'm just in a Calvin Klein thong and a plain black bra.

His eyes tear into me then. He doesn't speak for a few moments, but then his voice breaks, "Katara, holy _shit_. You, you're, _fuck_."

I don't say anything. I just stand there, waiting for him to speak. 

"Can I...?" He points to the place where my thighs meet.

"Mhmm," I nod my head, gripping his forearms as he slides my thong off. I thank myself that I shaved two nights ago. 

He places a hand along my front, right against my clit, and the warm friction has me almost whining his name again. His hands parts my thighs, his finger hovering just outside of that tender place, and then he slips it in, and I'm melting over his hand.

His fingers sift into me, like he's trying to coax something out of me. I clutch at his shoulders, feel the muscles flex as his arm jerks back and forth with the thrusts of his fingers. He moves, keeps moving, and I wonder if his movements mean something more than just _this_.

"You OK?" His eyes are foggy.

I nod and cut off his intake of air with a kiss that scrapes his mouth.

 _He's done this before_ , I think to myself, and I think of all the other bodies he's touched: girls with their hair splayed out wildly on the sheets, painted nails digging into his skin, soft words and the clatter of their laughs, saying his name just as brokenly as I am right now.

I think of Mai, that girl who messaged me, the girl he probably loved and still loves, laying naked, eyes dark, pale flesh and thin-boned on the mattress. I wonder if he looks at me and sees her, if her name almost leaves his lips instead of mine. 

Does he think of my body as a conquest, that he's regaining a slip of himself that burned away with the worst day of our lives so long ago? Does he know that he's leaning over the daughter of the woman his dad killed while he was in the car, or am I another knot on his string of girls? Maybe, just maybe, if his fingers reach inside of me long enough, something from the past will move.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S M U T

_Zuko_

We are in a battle with one another: me, coaxing and coaxing and coaxing; and her, on the edges of her fraying resolve. She turns away from me, underneath the abrasive ceiling lights of her dorm room that bounce off of her eyes. I still see her. She doesn’t want me to know I’m making her feel this.

My calculated grasps at Mai before, pecking at the column of her throat, like prodding and prodding at the skin of an animal to see if it’s alive, or digging into hardened earth. Nothing there, nothing to feel.

I felt love for her, in high school, that stretch of space before and after the crash loosened me from any strand of relationship with my father, when I barely talked to my sister besides giving her old homework answers and textbooks. Mai would trace my cheek bones with soft fingers, then move farther down, down, down until her hand slipped under my sweatpants and I felt my heart bubble up into my ears in thick beats.

Her parents let me sleep in one of their guest rooms on the nights I didn't want to go back to our house, the one I grew up in, the one I still shared with my father and sister before I left, the one with so many rooms that it felt empty without my mother. I loved her. I loved her.

My lips move like a current over Katara’s neck, mouthing at every little patch of skin with my teeth. I want to leave marks, purple and pink little splotches that she looks at in the smudged mirror hanging on the back of her door tomorrow morning.

She rings me out with her eyes when I pull away, those fucking eyes the same color as baby blue Easter eggs, or sea glass. I feel like I'm wrangling with water, attempting to stop the tides from moving away then hitting the shoreline again.

“Is this OK, Katara?”

She nods her head, a small “mhmmm” rising from her throat.

“Can I touch you here?” I trace the place where her breast meets her ribs.

She nods again, and I quicken the thrusts of my fingers as I reach down to roll her nipple between my teeth. She squirms, and almost yelps my name, but her teeth hold down her bottom lip, and all I hear is her shaky breathing.  

I pull myself out of her. My fingers are coated with her, and the wetness clings to my skin. I can smell it, just above the scent of some cinnamon-y air freshener on her nightstand. I slip my fingers into my mouth because I just want to taste her, and it's hot and sharp and bitter against my tongue. Her confused little pout. I smirk at her.

I push myself off of her. She wipes her mouth, and I hold her cheek, feel her ease into me. I can’t tell if she's nuzzling her head in my hand, or just attempting to get the hair out of her eyes. I swear she’s going to stare right at me and say something bigger than this room we are in, bigger than Cambridge, or Boston. Bigger than what happened before this.

“I’m tired.” She plops back on her pillow, leaving my hand to grasp at only air, “I think you should leave.”

“Did I do something to upset you? I’m sorry if I did. I —“

“No, no. I'm just super tired and, I just, I don't want to go too far. Not yet." She drops her eyes to the fringe of her comforter that she rolls in between her fingers.

"Put your number in my phone," I open up the Contacts app and hand it to her.

Her fingers glide over the screen. I hear my phone ping once, then twice, then three times. She's still typing. Her mouth twitches at the corner, and I see her eyes shifting back and forth as if she's reading the messages that just came through.

"Thanks for taking me home. I think you should go now," she's hunched over, rubbing her shoulders, and her face is expressionless, the curve of her eyes almost sad, "I want to go to bed now."

"Katara, I, I'm _really_ fucking glad I met you." I knead my hand into the back of my neck.

She won't look at me, and just nods. I almost think I see the pinch of tears in her eyes, but she turns her head away, "Good night, Zuko."

"Good night," I let the door to her dorm room close with a heavy thud and wonder if this was the last time I will ever see her besides pictures on a screen.

I don't check my messages until I'm in the Uber back to my apartment. Three unread texts from Mai. One is a mirror picture of her butt in a light pink lacy thong. _IK how much you love these on me_ , then, _IK you still want me_.

My face burns as I walk up the steps to my apartment building. I had not contacted Mai since our confrontation a few days ago, and the first time she not only texted, but _sexted_ me happened to be those few seconds Katara was putting her number into my phone.

I have my messages private, so only her contact name and "iMessage" flashed up as a banner notification on the screen. Katara's mood swing right after that, probably thinking I'm lying to her about dropping Mai. _Fuck_.

But I keep thinking about something she said as if there is something after tonight. I think about those two words, and how her lips moved almost too quickly for the words to slip out: _not yet_.


End file.
